


Return Home, Return to Yourself

by Musyc



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Uhura's Song
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Homecoming, Musicians, Returning Home, Yuletide 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 12:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: Rushlight has enjoyed his travels, but he misses his world and his people. He's been away from home for too long.





	Return Home, Return to Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/gifts).



The last notes faded into silence and Rushlight pulled his claws from the strings of the lute. He leaned forward, speaking into the recorder. "I sent a song to you recently, but I couldn't resist another. The sunsets at my last destination were like nothing I've seen before."

He paused, plucked a lute string, and laughed. "I say that so often, my friend, but each time it's true. The worlds I have seen on my tour - it would take every bard on Eeiauo and Sivao combined to create enough music to describe them all. The planets, the people. Even the emptiness between the stars hold more than I can ever sing. But I try. How could I not?"

He patted the side of the recorder affectionately. "I look forward to seeing you again. I have many songs to trade."

He ended the recording and sent it on, then shifted for a long luxurious stretch. Claws extended, legs pushing out behind him, ears high. Even the tip of his tail quivered as every muscle tensed and relaxed. He picked his whiskers forward in satisfaction. A good stretch was one of life's greatest pleasures, along with good hunting, good songs, and good friends.

He was missing the latter, he admitted to himself as he carefully put his lute into a large carrying bag made of rescued scraps of worn out usefuls. The people of Starfleet and the Federation who escorted him from planet to planet, the diplomats who greeted him, the audiences who gathered for his performances - they were a delight. The musicians who played with him were a joy. He carried remembered moments he could never lose, even if he had the memory of a human. But they were not friends; they were not his people.

He'd been gone for so long.

Rushlight drew his fingers along the pattern woven into the usefuls. One of the musicians he had met in his travels had suggested that 'reminders' of home might ease his loneliness. His appreciation of her earnest attempt to help had kept him from telling her that he needed no reminders. No photographs of friends and family were necessary when he could call up their images - the tilt of their ears, the curl of their tails - as clearly as if they stood with him. He could smell their breath, hear their voices, feel their warmth curled against his side. His memories of them were perfect.

It wasn't the same.

Not that he regretted it, he thought with a dismissive flick of one ear. The movement caused a small tug in his fur and he reached up to adjust the position of the sparkling jeweled earring he wore. He drew one claw down the length of the earring, his tail forming a small loop as he thought of Nyota, who'd presented him with his first pair. He supposed he did have some reminders after all. 

There were gifts for his people waiting in the hold of the ship - sculptures, jewelry, scrolls, paintings, weavings, and other artworks. For himself, in his bag and wrapped carefully to prevent breakage, he had several small instruments from worlds he had visited, personal gifts to him from musicians he had met, trinkets he'd purchased in markets on planets and stations.

And he had songs. So many songs, from so many worlds! His ears had ached from listening and his hands had ached from playing, but every twinge was worth it. He had thousands of hours of music in his memory, and all the musicians he'd met had given him permission to play and share the songs as he pleased. The bards of his world would improve the tunes for Sivaoan instruments and voices, and the forests would be filled with new music.

He was ready to go home.

A small chirp turned his attention from his thoughts. "Rushlight here," he answered. 

"Transporter room here," a cheery voice responded. "Whenever you're ready, Rushlight."

"Thank you," he said. "On my way."

He took a final look around the cabin. It was as bare as it had been when he first came aboard the small ship. After a moment, he nodded, a human gesture his people had adopted gleefully. He pulled a box from his carrying bag, opened it, and examined the handful of miniature charms inside. One caught his attention and his tail curled. He plucked it out carefully. No bigger than his claw and almost as light as a whisker, the silver charm was a Terran cat, curled in sleep. 

He placed the charm on a shelf near the door and returned the box to his bag. "Computer," he said, "Please tell the next inhabitant of this cabin that this charm is a gift from Rushlight to-Vensre of Sivao."

"Acknowledged."

Rushlight pricked his whiskers forward, shouldered his bag, and headed to the transporter room.

The crew of the liner greeted him as, pupils drawn tight against the light, he passed through the bright corridors, each being with their own gestures and words. He returned the acknowledgements and the farewells in kind as best he could, though even now most were strange to him. He'd spent some time studying facial expressions and body language with the help of the ship's computer, but still. So many species in the universe and hardly any with tails to loop or ears to flick. At least, he thought with a silent laugh, he'd finally mastered the handshake.

He passed the small medical facilities with his breath held, mostly managing to avoid the smells that came from all around, seeming to have saturated the thin, rough carpet under his feet and soaked into the walls. Even the smell of alcohol in the lounges and bars aboard the liner was less unpleasant than the smell of antiseptics and sterilizing agents. How anyone could call that the smell of 'clean' was beyond him.

Shouts and shrieks reached him from down an offshoot corridor. A door out of sight opened. He heard the splash of water, smelled the chemicals. He wrinkled his nose, fur ruffling in distaste, and hurried onward. He'd looked forward to the occasional opportunity to swim, enjoying the surprise of onlookers almost much as the buoyant water itself, but few of the places he'd visited were fresh water, even planetside. He planned to spend an entire day by the river once he'd settled back home, swimming, fishing, and letting the river sing new songs to him.

When he entered the transporter room, the young woman operating the console lifted her arms and curled her fingers. Her short fingernails were no replacement for proper claws, but Rushlight appreciated the attention to his customs. He returned the greeting, claws flashed and retracted quickly. 

"A pleasure to have you aboard, Rushlight," she said. "If you take another tour, hope you'll sail with us again. That Scramble Song is the funniest thing I've heard in ages."

Rushlight arranged his feet on the transporter pad and wrapped his tail around his feet. "Thank you," he said. "Sing it freely. Share it as you like."

"I will, don't you worry. You taught us all how to give permission for that." She glanced down at her console. "Ready?"

He nodded. "Energize."

That startling glimmer wrapped around him. It sparkled like moonlight dancing over the river, like stars whirling across the sky, like --

and he was on the ground, placed in the center of a clearing. The forest surrounded him, almost strange without the tang of metal and the hum of engines, yet as familiar as the fur on his belly. 

He closed his eyes. _Sivao_.

He lifted his head and inhaled deeply, ears raised high to catch every sound. Flowers, bark, tree fruits, and the lingering scent of a recent passerby. The rustle of leaves, the clicking of insects, the distant hiccup of a quickens. Through the trees one direction he spotted the sparkle of the river; the other held glimpses of brightly colored tents.

Above in the trees, a raucous screeching began and headed for the camp. A shout of greeting came to him and he returned it. He followed the sound along the narrow path, a song in his mouth and a loop in his tail.

Welcome home.


End file.
